First to hit the nose is a lonely tang with a hint 
of awareness, like orange pekoe steam.

Next, a new-hobby shellac aroma. Jilted exercise 
routines add a bitter bouquet like squashed ants.                        

Nine out of ten airport dogs can also pinpoint 
the boiled-cabbage stink of kids squabbling,

the armpit waft of money worries 
and the old-pillow funk of homelessness

that make up this viral mélange. 
Loss and shock carry a creeping stench

like mouse crap in the oven. 
At the far edge of nostril range floats a toxic-chemical

conspiracy slurry, but also the fresh-snow 
scent of a sky with fewer planes, 

and between all that hangs a mustiness 
like a nylon tent bagged in the rain—

the smell of a dubious future. 
That’s the hardest one to sniff out.
                        

When you’re tired of your windows and the color 
of your walls, gather chunks of carrot, grated zucchini, 
red pepper diced teensy and an onion 
chopped along gridlines and sautéed in olive oil.

If your fridge is so full you can’t find the mustard,
pull out all the veggies that end in “ee” and “oh”
plus the one-syllable greens that blanket the crisper.
Potatoes the size of robins’ eggs go in whole

and big taters leftover from your latke binge
—cleaved into lego blocks—are welcome as well. 
Since you’re going nowhere for a good long while,
boil it all in bouillon water and tomato purée

with last-minute red lentils melting in, adding heft.
Throw in pepper by the spoonful, fists of salt 
to blind the devil and just a little thyme—
don’t leave it on the stove too long, 

only till the broth turns orange 
and tubers are to the tooth. 
Top with sauerkraut or sharp cheddar 
as an afterthought once it’s steaming in the bowl.